


Ties That Bind

by sayrahsunshine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Adventure, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Auror Ron Weasley, Espionage, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione is a bad ass, Kinda, Like really slow, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Spy Draco Malfoy, These two got beef, and is not putting up with your shit, any graphic depictions of violence will be in later chapters and noted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayrahsunshine/pseuds/sayrahsunshine
Summary: Nothing left for him in the Wizarding World after the War, Draco Malfoy exiles himself to Muggle London. Having made quite a name for himself after nearly a decade in the city, word spreads fast to the Ministry. Hermione Granger is brought in to investigate a string of crimes that could be tied to the Ex-Deatheater.





	1. Draco Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first full-fledged fanfic I'm writing for Harry Potter as an adult. My goal is for this story to be multi-chaptered, and novel sized and I am so excited to write and see where this story takes us. 
> 
> Please be aware, the first couple of chapters will be plot building, exposition and filling you in on what's happened over the past seven years. This first chapter is about Draco's life and how it has taken a drastic turn. The next, we will delve into Hermione's story. 
> 
> The slow burn romance in this tale will be slow. Our main players have some serious beef to hash out so lol SLOW. You have been warned. 
> 
> This work has not been beta'd. All mistakes are my own.  
> If you'd like to reach out, my tumblr is firetohisice. 
> 
> Other than that, I really hope you enjoy.

Draco strolled down the sidewalk, smirking like the devil incarnate. His hands were deep in his pockets and a cigarette perched from the corner of his mouth.

A passing pedestrian jumped as a shoe flew by him from above. The man turned his eyes up in alarm as Draco kept walking, humming a tune.

A shrill female voice scratched through the air from a fourth-floor window. "YOU! You get back here, or I swear to-"

He barked out a laugh as he paused to relight his cigarette.

“Come now, Jessica. No need for the dramati-"

"ELIZA."

"Excuse me. Eliza." He turned his amused, silver eyes to the topless woman who was hanging out of her flat window” She panted with rage. “I believe I paid fairly for your wares."

She sucked in an indignant gasp, her face turning a frightful shade of plum.

"How da **RE Y** -"

"I'll call you!" He cut her off and gave her a mock salute, continuing his strut.

The bewildered passerby jolted out of his trance and sprang into a run as a barrage of items rained from the sky. Everything from lamps, to mugs, to book ends and more shoes. Each missed their intended target as he continued to saunter along.

He restarted his tune to the beat of falling home decor and melody of piercing shrieks in the distance. A shit-eating grin spread across his face as he fingered the smooth vial in his pocket.

Today was going to be a good day.

* * *

 To put it frankly, his life had taken a sharp turn into left field.

 

Meet Draco Malfoy: Purveyor of illicit magical relics, un-certified Potions Master, hitman for hire.

 

Needed your boss sorted out? He could fix that. You’re in need of a specific trinket or bauble? Easy. Tired of dealing with your estranged husband siphoning money out of your bank accounts? Draco was your man.

 

His clientele you ask? Muggles.

 

He was renowned through the undergrounds and the glittering heights as the one to go to no matter the problem. He always had the solution. Some thought he was a member of the mafia. Some called it black magic. Others flat out thought he was a con artist. Though, at the end of the day, they couldn’t deny the results.

 

But for it, you had to pay. And pay they did.

 

Seven years he’d been at it now, working tirelessly job after job. He’d done well for himself in Muggle London, considering. He imagined the young boy he was all that time ago wouldn’t be able to recognize him now, even with a name badge.

 

But, when it came down to it, it had all came out of bleak necessity.

 

After the events of the War, the repercussions of being on the losing side swiftly dropped on his head.

 

He spent his 18th birthday in a cage. Pureblood Elitist. Ex-Death Eater. War Criminal.

 

“ _He’s just a boy!_ ”

 

He would never forget his mother’s cries as he was dragged out of the room. The sharp stones of the floor had ripped mercilessly into his knees.

 

The trials had dragged on for months. He held no concept of time behind those bars. The Aurors would come to interrogate him sporadically, leaving no hint of a schedule.

 

Where was his mother? Was she okay? Had they hurt her?

 

Were they going to leave them there to rot? Would they not even send him to Azkaban? Was he worth so little?

 

_Yes._

 

“You’re a spineless piece of shit, you are.” The man’s breath was rancid. “Despicable. The lot of you.”

 

_Yes._

 

“You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as us. Terrorist. Murderer!”

 

_I didn’t.._

 

“So many innocent dead because of you.”

 

_I couldn’t-_

 

_“_ Young lives. Good lives.” “Was it worth it?”

 

_I-_

 

The woman’s sapphire eyes held so much hatred, it burned him.

 

“We’re going to drain your head dry until there’s nothing left. Every last speck of information will be ours, and then we’ll throw you away with the rest them.”

 

She spat at his feet. The door slammed. They left.

 

They kept their word. Never had he felt so empty.

 

The truth elixir knocked down his carefully-built walls. Inch by painful inch they pulled the memories from him. His pristine childhood. His warm mother. His cold father. His taunting. His cruelty. His training. His rite. His failure. His shame. _His fear._

 

He knew that at each wispy blue moment they pull from him, they would hiss an insult at him.

 

They wanted him to react. They wanted a reason. But he was so empty.

 

_Merlin, what have I done?_

 

He saw those blue crystalline eyes again at his final trial, glowering at him behind a black fringe. If looks could kill, he knew he’d be a dead man ten times over by now.

 

Loud buzzes of rage rolled into his senses as his cage rose into the courtroom on a pulley system. It was all white noise, the shouting. He swore he heard Potter’s voice at one point. His tone of righteousness bleeding through the static. On and on and on- he thought he might go mad. Until it stopped.

 

And there was only her voice.

 

His gaze shifted to the witness podium where Hermione Granger stood. His flat grey eyes met her amber depths.

 

A searing heat burned in his sternum as he stared at her, his face slack. She seemed to speak for hours. He couldn’t register a word she was saying to the Wizengamot. She was still talking. Against him?

 

“-did not. And I fully believe his omittance that night saved Harry, Ron and I’s life from being handed over to Voldemort .”

 

_For him._

 

The crowd erupted in outrage, the Wizengamot was ordering for silence.The heat grew stronger. And he knew what it was now. It was pure, unadulterated rage.

 

He tried to yell but it came out as no more than a soft hiss. His voice non-existent from disuse. Her eyes met his again and she flinched.

 

_Stupid girl._

 

His father was sent to Azkaban with a thirty year sentence. Draco and his mother were released with a restrictive probation of ten years.

 

Manipulated spouse and minor, they said. Brainwashed.

 

Riots broke out in front of the Ministry after the final hearing. The first two weeks they were escorted by Aurors from the Manor to the Ministry for paperwork and legal admin. Their bodyguards smirked as they signed their names on the respective dotted lines, giving their government permission to neuter them of their rights as witch and wizard.

 

They took away his wand. They snapped hers.

 

Manipulated or not, they said, she was an adult of sound mind the entire time.

 

On the last day of legalities, they were escorted out of the Ministry. The crowd swarmed. Their so-called protectors did nothing. Feigning injury or ignorance. A couple disapparating on the spot.

 

His mother was caught under foot. Draco couldn’t reach her, couldn’t see her, he couldn’t-

 

He woke up three days later in St. Mungos. They told him he was recovering from severe concussion. His mother…

 

Narcissa Malfoy was dead. Dying of blunt-force trauma to the head. Internal bleeding that couldn’t be stopped or reversed by the time she was brought to them.

 

He broke down while taking the first steps into the Manor foyer. His house elf, Mipsy, fretted and cried as he shook on the marble floor. No amount of tea or frilly cakes could fix this.

 

He was alone.

 

The riots started from the outrage of Lucius’s ‘short’ sentencing. They didn’t care that he would wilt away in that hell hole, leaving only his decayed mind. They wanted his life. They wanted to see them all bleed.

 

He stayed in the Manor for a month longer. The constant screaming from outside the stone walls dug into his brain like hot pokers. He felt like a caged animal.

 

He once made the mistake of stepping out into his garden to check on his mother’s coveted hydrangeas. He thanked his quick reflexes as he flung himself out of the way of a nasty hex. It missed by barely an inch. The caster almost foamed at the mouth with feral rage at Draco’s very existence.

 

This was another part of his probation. The blood Wards on the family property lines were no more.

 

No walls. No privacy. No escape.

 

Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had played their part in ensuring Draco’s freedom from Azkaban. And he _hated_ them for it.

 

He had thought he knew what it was to hate before. Based on looks, class, blood status. No. He hated them for their short-sightedness. They’re stupid Gryffindor bravado. Their fucking hero complexes. Golden saviors that cared not of the consequences of their bloody help.

 

After the trial it had been revealed that the sentencing would have only been five years. Five fucking years. Draco knew now that was nothing. Fleeting. If they had only done their time in Azkaban, his beautiful mother would still be here, and breathing -- alive.

 

He could have been able to hear her soft singing voice one last time as it drifted through the air. Watched as she tended to her flowers in her bedroom bay window. He could’ve seen her smile. Kissed her cheek. Told her how _sorry he was_.

 

Potter had forced his way into the house one night. Draco had stared at his feet, his face blank. He hadn’t heard a word of what Scarhead had said. He thought he heard something about lost opportunity and doors closing and windows opening--honestly, what a load of _pygmy-shite_.  

 

He had been about to walk away from his rambling, but then Potter had said something that forced Draco to look at him.

 

“We didn’t know.” Harry’s eyes shone like glass. “We couldn’t have known.”

 

His fucking face was practically dripping with sincerity. It made Draco sick. A sneer came easily to his features as he stook a stiff step toward the black-haired man.

 

“What is this?” he hissed. “Are you repenting?”

 

Harry straightened his shoulders and looked Malfoy straight in the eye.

 

“I am so sorry for your loss, Malfoy.”

 

Draco’s eyes flashed with barely-contained mania, his teeth bared, “Get out.”

 

“I’m sorry for the part we played in your loss.”

 

“Get. Out.”

 

“Your mother… She didn’t des-”

 

_CRACK._

 

Harry stumbled back, gingerly holding on to his nose. No matter his fumbling, blood began to spill in angry red down the front of his shirt.

 

“You should’ve _fucking_ known better!” Draco’s entire body was taut with tension. His fist was curled, knuckles red, ready to throw another hit to the Golden Boy’s stupid gushing face. _I hate him, I hate him, I hate him-_ “You should have known she didn’t stand a chance.”

 

Draco had expected Harry to launch at him. Good. He wanted a fight. He wanted to take some of his pain and transfer it to him. He wanted to make him hurt. It served the idiot right.

 

But instead, Harry stilled. He muttered apology after apology with his eyes clenched shut and his palm tight against his nose. Not moving from his crouched position on the marble floor.

 

The next time Draco demanded he leave, Harry listened.

 

Mipsy cried over the small pools of blood leading out to the main doors. Draco ignored her as she scrubbed.

 

Two days later, he was gone. Leaving no more than a note and an old tie for Mipsy, proclaiming she was free to do as she pleased.

 

He escaped to Muggle London with only a small pension of his fortune to his name, courtesy of Blaise Zabini.

 

The Ministry had put a hold on the Malfoy vaults, refusing to leave a single sickle to Draco. Their reasoning for the hold was Draco needed to fully assimilate himself into working class society and earn his way for the duration of his ten year probation. This would ensure he had gained _loyalty, integrity, respect,_ and more asinine nonsense that Draco barely listened to. He had been too busy envisioning his hands around the Ministry clerk’s neck as he prattled on.

 

They had tried to access the hidden accounts abroad in France and Italy, but word had traveled, those were also closed to him.

 

Thankfully, Blaise’s mother had a long standing relationship with the goblins of Gringotts. Sharp and prickly they may be, but when given the right, shiny motivation, they could be swayed. With the trade of a centuries-old goblet of goblin design, and the promise that no one would know of their transgression, Draco gained rights to a small pension of 500 galleons.

 

Pitiful.

 

When he exiled himself to the Muggle world, Blaise employed the help of someone unexpected: Luna Lovegood. Since she was known as a Pureblood muggle lover, it ruffled no one's feathers to find her exchanging the Galleons for British Pound notes.

 

Draco chose not to comment on the connection. He wasn’t entirely sure he even wanted to know what was going on there.

 

When Luna sent the package to him, it was almost bursting. The tiny sliver of his fortune was worth five times as much here. His shock was short lived, however. Even in the Muggle world, it truly wasn’t much to live on.

 

It was an adjustment. A painful one. Everything he had been taught about Muggles was false. Well-- maybe not everything. They did roll around in metal deathtraps. They did slowly kill themselves with rolled up tar and herb. Most of them were incredibly uncouth in what they wore, how they spoke, etc.

 

But the longer he immersed himself in Muggle London, the more he couldn’t deny the similarities. He also couldn’t deny how miniscule this world made him feel. He was still alone. Only this time, it wasn’t him against the world. He was lost in a new world, completely ignorant of its ways.

 

Merlin, how he missed his mother.

 

It was the end of the second month when Draco finally spoke to one of them.

 

He stumbled into a pub, _Roscoes_ , a place he frequented often to escape the cold of the night. He had spent several weeks on the street now, having worn down his expenses drastically by staying in motels. They hadn’t been gaudy or lush, but they drained his allowance just the same. He needed to ration. Food was the priority.

 

Draco had spent a lot of time berating himself for being so careless. But, the reality was he had never in his life had to watch how he spent his money. He was completely out of his element.

 

He met a man by the name of Geraint Barns, the owner of _Roscoes._ He was a gruff fellow, his age only showing from the gray in his hair and the way he favored his right leg. He had broad shoulders and a square, protruding gut. His salt-and-pepper chest hair always fluffed out of his v-neck shirts. His arms were riddled with various faded tattoos he had collected during his time in the British Army.

 

The man was a tank.

 

Draco had had too many tequilas that night in an attempt to quell his nervousness of speaking to a Muggle. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with his fear that the Muggle could easily crush him with his pinky if he so much as looked at him funny.

 

Look at him. Cowering before a Muggle. A past version of himself would have cackled at the notion. Life without a wand definitely put things into perspective a bit.

 

He remembered Barns had barely said a word to him as he rambled about his predicament in his drunken state.

 

Draco didn’t even know if he had made any sense, let alone if he had said more than he probably should have. Something about his dead mother, something about no money, no place to go. Probably sounded like nothing more than the jumbled nonsense of a drunken loser, telling the bartender all his life problems. _Salazar, he had been absolutely bottled._

 

But the older man had simply nodded and grunted when appropriate.

 

By the end of his spiel, Barns had stared down at Draco for a beat, before tapping the counter top.

 

“Tab’s on me, lad.” He refilled Draco’s drink. “You can have the studio upstairs. It’s run down, mind you. But it’s a roof over your head.”

 

Draco blinked, frozen.

 

Then his pride reared its ugly head, covering his shame, his failure. He was always known for ruining a good thing. “I don’t need your pity,” he spat before storming out of the establishment.

 

It took him less than a full day to swallow his pride and returned to _Roscoe’s_ , holding his head up as high as he could. Barns looked up at him as he paused in his cleaning.

 

“I apologize for my actions, I was incredibly rude and acted like a petulant child,” Draco bit his tongue. _Never in his life_ \- “Especially with such a generous offer to someone you don’t even know.”

 

The veteran grunted. He threw his towel over his shoulder and leaned against the counter.

 

“I can pay for my stay. I don’t have much, so my stay won’t be long. But, my standards do not allow me to accept this for free.”

 

“How much you got?”

 

Draco took out the carefully folded notes from his blazer pocket, showing him the thin stack.

 

“Hn,” Barns took the stack and counted. He counted again. His eyes pensive on the cash before meeting Draco’s stare.

 

“Is it sufficient?”

 

He unfolded the money, took a fiver, folded the stack and handed it back.

 

“Done.”

 

Draco was, again, stuck in a position where his ego was bruised and he was ready to spit venom.

 

Barns held up a hand, halting Draco’s forked tongue, “Listen, boy.” He stared at him hard. “You say you can’t take it unless you pay? There you have it, you’ve paid. It’s within my right to charge what I like, and this is the amount I want. The rest you can use for things you need. Like food.”

 

“But-”

 

“I know what it’s like to be cold and hungry with no where to go, alright? My saving grace was serving for Queen and Country. Twenty plus years of my life.” He spoke in a measured tone as his hazel eyes bore into Draco, his voice gravelly. “My son knew what it was like to be cold and alone too. But, he didn’t have no saving grace. He didn’t get out.”

 

The angry heat that had been in Draco’s belly fled with the confession.

 

“You remind me of him,” Barns scoffed. “Christ, you even kinda look like him. Though the hair is way off.” He flapped his hand as if wafting something away. “He’d never stick his head in a barrel of bleach the way you obviously did, but to each his own.”

 

Draco didn’t understand some of the terms, but he got the gist of it. He didn’t have the heart to argue that his hair was 100% natural.

 

“My point is, I wish someone had been there to see when my boy was in need and did something about it. I wish I had-” He sighed. He pocketed the five pound note. “Anyway. It’s done. You’ll stay here. If you can’t find honest work of your own, you can help me with the pub. The pay won’t be much, but it’ll be something.”

 

Draco was floored. The only thing he could say was-

 

“...Thank you. For your kindness.”

 

“Hn.” Barns went back to shining the counter. “Don’t mention it.”

 

And that was that. Draco had a place of his own. Barns hadn’t exaggerated that the studio was run down. The flooring was chipped, the late-70’s wallpaper was bubbling from water damage, and the bathroom, _Merlin’s pointy hat the bathroom_ , was a travesty. But he made do. He had to.

 

Roscoe’s became his stomping ground and where he found his first clients.

 

Of course, it’s never that simple. He had to wheedle his way in, and give them a reason to believe. He attempted to seduce them with his charm. He told them he can bring results, for a price. They all told him to “Sod off, you freak” “Bloody hack.” “No one would be stupid enough to buy what you’re selling. Stick with cleaning tables.”

 

Then one day as he was leaving the bar for a food run, he saw him. The one that started his climb to fame.

 

The forlorn husband that was crying into his drink about his wife. The wife that didn’t love him anymore. Like a bolt of lightning to his brain, the thought came to him. He could fix that!

 

Draco expected much of the same from him, anger and disgust at being _conned_. But this man was so desperate, so willing to do anything to win the heart back of his long lost love.

 

Immediately, he wrote a letter to Lovegood. He needed supplies to make this happen. He needed Neville Longbottom.

 

Longbottom’s newfound position at Hogwarts as Professor Sprout’s assistant meant that he had a whole range of potions ingredients at his disposal. He also had access to the Potions room for study.

 

He definitely was not easy to convince. Draco for a time thought it was all for naught and his chance had flown by him, but Ms. Lovegood had a way with Mr. Longbottom.

 

Never before had Draco Malfoy been so grateful for the schoolboy crush Neville had on Luna until then.

 

Once she took matters into her own hands, parcels were being sent to Draco weekly through the Muggle post. First the tools, a cauldron, then mortar and pestle, scalpels, everything. Then the ingredients. First basics, and then by Draco’s instructions, more specific. Moonstone. Ashwinder Eggs. Pre-plucked rose bulb roots.

 

He let it slide that each one was tagged with a mini-Howler. They were all along the same line of **_You git_ ** and and **_I’m not your delivery boy_ ** and **_I don’t know what good Luna sees in you anyway_ **. Truly, Draco didn’t mind. If this was the price for a constant stream of magical material in a non-magical world, he’d pay it.

 

Though the last one struck him. **I swear to Godric, Malfoy, if you are brewing a love potion I will personally find you and-** He shut the screaming letter into the cauldron and plopped down the lid, muffling the screeches. It exploded with a pop and clang of metal.

 

He obviously needed to be more careful with the order of his requests it seemed.

 

Potion brewing was Draco’s favorite. It calmed and focused him. He could spend hours without complaint measuring, cutting, stirring. He was meticulous and precise with his craft. And if he wanted this to play out the way he hoped, he needed accuracy.

 

Potioning water. Three frozen Ashwinder eggs for love’s flame. Rose roots, instead of thorns, for ties that bind. Six peppermint flowers, twelve of the leaves for a healing heart. A dash of moonstone dust for a calm mind. And the ripped off corner piece of the lonely, drunken man’s coveted love letter to his wife as the tether.

 

And after 10 long days- Viola! Draco’s very own version of Amortentia.

 

Draco tells him it’ll only be temporary. All the potion will allow is for her to remember what she loves most in this world. He tells him it’s a real possibility that it won’t be him anymore. He made it to show her true feelings.

 

The drunk doesn’t care. He said he’d do anything. He’ll pay, whatever Draco wanted.

 

Draco thinks of him on quiet days. Thinks that maybe he took advantage and should have left well alone. He had paid him handsomely.

 

Without him, Draco would have had to start stooping down to ask Barns for food, and he refused to fall that low. Regardless of the fact that he knew the old brute wouldn’t have denied him.

 

But, occasionally he’ll see the forlorn drunk pass the window of Roscoes, sober and laughing, with a young vibrant woman on his arm, smiling prettily up at him.

 

And he remembers, no. He’s doing good. Even if it never started that way. It was never his intention. He was doing this world a little bit of good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing left for him in the Wizarding World after the War, Draco Malfoy exiles himself to Muggle London. Having made quite a name for himself after nearly a decade in the city, word spreads fast to the Ministry. Hermione Granger is brought in to investigate a string of crimes that could be tied to the Ex-Deatheater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for the long wait for a follow up chapter. I do hope this view into Hermione's life thus far makes up for it. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy!

A rumbling tore through the bricked building before it exploded outward.

 

“Take cover!”

 

The hooded bomber zipped through the falling debris. The two young Auror’s shook themselves of dust. 

 

“Clive, take the right alley way. I’m going to try and circle around.”

 

Clive stumbled as he tried to gain momentum, “Got it!” He sped in the direction the assailant ran.

 

Perry tried to situate himself before running toward the opposite alleyway in an attempt to cut off the bomber. 

 

He ran and ran and ran until he saw a black cloak. He launched himself forward, slamming into the other body.

 

“Got’cha, you bastard! We’re taking you the Ministry for trial. You have the right-”

 

The was an abrupt, feminine cough. “Pardon me.”

 

Perry looked up to the person standing across from him, and the only thing his dazed mind could register was bushy hair.

 

“Were you meaning to speak to him?”

 

With a chaste smile, Hermione apparated away, bomber in tow. Leaving the two recruit Auror’s stunned and in the dust.

 

\----

 

Well, this certainly wasn’t where she saw herself in her ten year planner.

 

Meet Hermione Granger: Order of Merlin - First Class, Former International Researcher in the Ministry’s Beast Division, Current Auror.

 

She was known throughout central Wizarding London as the iron fist of the Ministry of Magic’s Law Enforcement. If Granger was on the case, you had better hope you had nothing to do with any of it. 

 

Needed leads on Pureblood elitist sympathisers? She had an entire bulleted stack dedicated to all war criminals and their networks. Had to work on relations between Muggles corporations that had been corrupted by magical interference? Hermione was a Floo away. Having trouble with a crime ring affecting locals? No worries, she had a few favors she needed to cash in.

 

Hermione knew that she wasn’t particularly liked. She was still swotty, a bit of a know-it-all, and had an unyielding respect for the rules. The only difference is that the rules were now the law that she was carrying out. 

 

At the end of the day, they didn’t have to like her, but they would respect her.

 

Heading the Auror team with Harry and Ron hadn’t been an easy transition to say the least. But looking back on the years, she would have been lying to herself if she said she hadn’t seen it coming. 

 

After the events of the War, the past seven years had flown past her in a flash. There was so much that had to be done. 

 

It started with the reparations at Hogwarts. Everyone else traveled back to their families. Harry and Ron found solace at the Burrow. Hermione found solace in hard work. 

 

Brick by brick she pieced the walls of the castle back together alongside her Professors, her mentors, now her friends. In between the heavy labor, she studied for her N.E.W.T. exams, not listening to anyone that told her she was putting too much on herself.

 

She didn’t want to think. She needed this.

 

A month later, half of the castle had been erected when Harry, Ron and herself were presented their individual Order of Merlin, First Class, awards. The applause echoing through the partially renovated Great Hall smacked her in the face. 

 

Professor McGonagall was her consistent confidant during those times. She insisted that Hermione call her Minerva. This succeeded in making her slightly uncomfortable in the beginning. But after some time, it grew on her. It freaked Harry and Ron out to no end.

 

She completed seven N.E.W.T. exams, scoring an Outstanding grade in each. She tried to explore the possibility of being a Professor at the school once they reopened fully to students. Minerva gave her full support. But after spending her, technically, 8th year there, all of the memories of before clung to her like ghosts.

 

She decided to leave.

 

Hermione returned back to Harry and Ron. They already knew they wanted to be Aurors, despite the fact that neither of them went back to take their NEWTS. Regardless of her determined nagging and poking, which bothered her to no end that they never _listened_ , but that was entirely beside the point.

 

Harry was able to start Auror training regardless of his lack of NEWTS and made it so Ron could join. They were incredibly excited about the opportunity and couldn’t wait to get on with it. It was their dream come true! Well, actually, Ron’s dream was to be a super-star Quidditch player but that dream was being lived by another, more qualified Weasley. Ginny Weasley, in fact. _(read: a whole other story)_

 

All of it made Hermione more anxious about not knowing what to do.

 

She had the NEWTS to qualify to go through Healer training. Luna had started at the time and was thoroughly enjoying it. She had a knack for seeing people’s pain and the root of it. She had a kind, deep soul and that kind of work suited her.

 

But Hermione, after some serious soul searching, decided that wasn’t really her path. 

 

It wasn’t that she wasn’t kind or didn’t have a habit of helping people. She was always willing to help. But she also had a hardness in her heart now. It almost felt in moments like a sliver of ice that had embedded itself in her chest. It allowed her to look at the aftermath of the war from an objective point of view. Efficient. One step at a time. Studying the fall out like she were analyzing a textbook. 

 

Ron had accused her of being cold. She defended that it wasn’t cold, it was logic. He replied that it was the same thing. In short, she didn’t think that it would be wise for her to be in the field of care.

 

A healer required a hard heart for the one’s they couldn’t save. But in Hermione’s case, she worried she would take it too far. Self aware enough to predict that it might just break her to not be able to save everyone. Lose more than she kept. 

 

No, she thought, she didn’t think she was the right fit for the world of healing. 

 

There was, of course, the steep career ladder of the Ministry. If she wished it, she imagined she could pull the same amount of strings that Harry did and catapult herself up to at least mid tier. It would give her a considerable head start.

 

But the thought of that made her queasy. It wasn’t that she didn’t earn the right. She had the knowledge, definitely the knowledge, and the skills. But she knew if she did, she’d be overtaking people with years of experience under their belt, and that didn’t seem right to her. 

 

Plus, politics… _ugh, politics_. She understood the processes. She’d read about them and had practically memorized the legislation in place. Hermione knew the Wizarding World’s government like it was a worn out paperback that she read front-to-back 24 times. She felt as though she would love nothing more than to stomp in there and change things for the better.

 

Not just writing laws on House Elf Welfare and expanding S.P.E.W. to something nationwide. No, how about some anti-discrimination laws against Muggle Borns and Half Bloods. How about some actual support and representation for the magical creature population. How about working to kick out the crooked, pasty, old crotchety bastards out of that office who even allowed half of the corruption and darkness to infiltrate in the first place.

 

It made her blood boil thinking of all the injustices bleeding from the heart of their government. If she could only- If she just-

 

Ugh. But again. _Politics_. 

 

She knew it required a level of finesse to make things start moving. She knew it required charm, charisma, groveling, funding, campaigning, schmoozing. And Hermione knew a lot of that...she just couldn’t do it. She was about as subtle as a pickax to the head.

 

And she knew, without those traits, she was going to go nowhere fast.

 

The whole damn thing made her want to bang her head against a table. Why couldn’t things just be simpler? 

 

But as time has told, Hermione Granger was the girl that aimed to change the world by shouting at it. But hell, she could still try.

 

She ignored the job offers from the Ministry: secretary for Mafalda Hopkirk in the Department of Improper Use of Magic. An apprenticeship under Arthur Weasley in the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. An Obliviator in the Obliviator Headquarters in the Ministry. 

 

That one hit too close to home. Though she could understand why they would try to recruit her. Her previous uses of the spell were always successful. One time, too successful… 

 

One job offer did peak her interest though. A position in the Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. This position would have her traveling across the Middle East and Africa. If she stayed long enough, maybe Australia could be an option…

 

She sent in her acceptance soon after consulting with Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasley clan. Though they would hate to see her go, they knew she would do beautifully in whatever path she chose. She had three months until she was due to leave on her first assignment.

 

During this waiting period, the trials for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were ongoing. She knew Harry already wanted to testify on their behalf since the War was won. He strongly felt that they did not deserve the harsh punishment of Azkaban when they were merely pawns in the grand scheme of things.

 

Hermione was more hesitant. The implications of their freedom could be rather drastic. She didn't think the people as a whole would approve and it would be highly unlikely that their testimony would count for anything against the angry masses.

 

But Harry would not budge. Regardless of Hermione's gentle prodding, and Ron and their elders less than gentle objections. 

 

She decided that it was for the best. To do what was right. They deserved a second chance.  Shortly before her first trip abroad, they were called in for Narcissa's final trial. And then Draco’s.

 

Narcissa had been a slip of a thing. _Had they even been feeding them?_ Her eyes pleading with them, but for what, they didn't know.

 

Draco was not much more than a husk of man. His long, lank form crumbled in his caged tube of a prison. Hermione would never forget the overwhelming pity she felt for him. He used to be so towering and snarky in her mind's eye. Now the image of his slumping body in that cage burned into her brain. 

 

_Oh how the mighty have fallen_. 

 

She was determined to not let her voice falter as she practically shouted her testimony at the Wizengamot. He did not deserve this. Then she looked back at him and couldn't help but physically jolt at the burning hatred radiating from him as he glared at her. 

 

His face haunted her dreams for weeks. 

 

She was far off in Kuwait when she heard the news of Narcissa Malfoy's passing. Trampled to death in the center of an enraged mob. Draco had come out of it with a severe concussion. The Healers of St. Mungos had been able to stop his internal bleeding in time. But not her’s.. 

 

Hermione had felt numb all night and the day after.This was their fault.

 

Harry had wrote to her saying that he felt terribly and had went to Malfoy to apologize on behalf of both of them. He also advised that it had been a terrible idea and he was awful at episkey’ing his own nose. 

 

Hermione wasn’t too surprised.

 

What did surprise her was the Malfoy’s reported disappearance a month after his mother’s death. The Daily Prophet speculated that he may have exiled himself to Paris or Rome. But there wasn’t enough substantial evidence to prove either. The witch hunt eventually died down.

 

Like most communities, it didn’t take too long for the Wizarding world to focus on other issues.

What was the disappearance of Draco Malfoy in comparison to who won Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile award? And as it left the minds of society, it drifted from her own concerns.

 

After three years of her apprenticeship, turned actual job position, she found herself in Australia. The heat during the Winter months made her feel backward but not unpleasant. She had found her parents in a small clinic that they were running out of Perth.

 

Of course they didn’t recognize her. Their own daughter.

 

She scheduled monthly appointments for cleaning, filling, sometimes causing injury just for a reason to speak with them. Her excuse to them was she was majorly accident prone and paranoid while traveling abroad.

 

Even though she kept busy with her assignments, the panging grief of being close to her parents and them not knowing her from any of their other clients, she had to leave.

 

At the end of their research project in Australia, she put in her notice. Wanting a change of pace, she returned back to London after three years abroad. Hermione had spent most of her time out in the sand dunes, the bush, or the tundra during her travels. Surrounded by nature, wildlife and nothingness. She wasn’t prepared for the culture shock of returning back to the hustle and bustle of the city.

 

Not long after, Harry and Ron had convinced her to sign up for Auror training. They were hurting for personnel, and they truly felt her knowledge and skill would be a perfect addition to their team.

Having no other plans for her future and wanting to at least distract herself, she conceded and started the initiation courses.

 

The training had been harsh, and rigorous. She hadn’t thought herself unfit before she started, but the courses essentially worked as a boot camp.

 

There were many fresh faces straight out of Hogwarts doing the training alongside her. She felt a little odd as a 22 year old working with teenagers. But in the end it hardly mattered. It chiseled and shaped parts of her body that she hadn’t needed out in the bush of Australia. It focused her mind and muscles. She learned to defend herself, evade attacks and fire back as if she were dancing.

 

Quite early on in the course, the instructors labeled her as a “Brute”. 

 

Her defense had been shaky, but her offensive was deadly. She had the knowledge and skill. Her focus needed to be on balance. There could come a time where she had no partner to watch her six and her defense needed to be immaculate.

 

She graduated from the training with flying colors. She didn’t think she had seen Harry look prouder of her. He reminded her of a beaming father at his child's school graduation. And it hurt that her own parents couldn’t be there to see.

 

The years working with Harry, Ron and the rest of the Auror team had presented its challenges. Especially when Robards stepped down and Harry took over as Head Auror. There was some complaints at the conflict of interest of Head Auror Potter managing his two best friends. But he was able to quiet them down pretty quickly. 

 

His main reason being “Auror Granger would put me in my place quicker than a Cornish Pixie if I stepped one toe out of line.”

 

Her first assignments had been reminiscent of her time out in the field as part of the Magical Creature department. Reconnaissance was a lot like foraging. Investigation of suspects remind her of studies a specific flora or fauna. She was meticulous in her research. 

 

She didn’t mind terribly that she wasn’t the one to be called out onto every mission. There was so much more research to be done. Preparation was key. 

 

After a year, they started forcing her out of the office and into the field. Though her research and the information she provided for the team was invaluable, they knew she’d excel on the field.

 

She was most interested and passionate about Muggle cases. Mostly these were dispensed to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department and Improper Use of Magic Department. 

But the ones that stunk of dark magic were immediately handed to her.

Being Muggle born she believed in her heart that she had the best of both worlds. And, no matter the obstacles, she held a firm allegiance to both. 

 

It rarely shocked her the amount of muggle leads that would fall upon her desk. But on this day, with only one slip laying across her work bench. And this one in particular… This one drew her rapt attention.


End file.
